My first life on Super Mario Bros. lasted approximately 15 seconds. My mis-timed, floaty, classic Mario jumped sailed far past its mark, over the brick block I was supposed to land on, and smack into the Goomba that was waddling slowly and angrily from the right side of the screen. My wife laughed.
Okay, I’m a bit rusty. I can handle that.
My first bout with Glass Joe on Punch-Out lasted until late in the third round. Then Von Kaiser knocked me down. Twice. I managed to get to Don Flamenco, where that Adam Sandler looking bastard took me out in quick fashion because I knew there was a way to interrupt his uppercut. Except I couldn’t.
Okay, it’s been a while since I’ve played Punch-Out. It’ll come back to me.
But it wasn’t until Super-C, the classic Contra sequel itself, booted up that I got the harsh dose of reality. I hopped in, running forward, shooting diagonally, hopping over bullets and knowing, from pure muscle memory, when and where to aim. Except it was all wrong, and I died. Repeatedly. And, less than five minutes after starting the game, I was treated with a game over screen. The first level not passed, and the first boss not even reached.
My wife remarked that 5-year old me would’ve been ashamed. And she was right. My (actually 7 or 8) year old self would’ve been shaking his head in disbelief. Then he would have taken the controller from my hand and beat Super-C with his eyes closed, and one hand behind his back, pushing buttons with his nose.
At some point in the last 30 years I’ve become terrible at video games. I know, a lot of it is rust, but a lot of it is also conditioning. Over the years, we as gamers have not only been blessed with tighter controls, more balanced gameplay, and overall better games, but we have also been quick to call out poor or unforgiving game design. That’s not to say that Super Mario Bros. or Punch-Out were poorly designed games. On the contrary, they hold up surprisingly well. But that also doesn’t discount the fact that Mario’s jump has changed over the years. Nintendo has all but perfected the platformer in the 30+ years since Mario’s first outing, and going back to that original is tough. I’m used to a tighter, more responsive Mario.
By contrast, my wife, who doesn’t play video games regularly, hopped on and did much, much better than I. For her it was old hat, it was exactly what she remembered, and she settled right back in and was hopping and jumping her way across the levels like no time had passed. It was an interesting thing to experience, and a bit humbling. As my gaming experience has evolved, I’ve lost touch with the games I grew up with. It’s not even in a bad way. It’s not like going to a theme park you loved as a kid, and noticing the faded paint and cracked sidewalks. These games are exactly as I remembered them. I hummed with the music, and in an I-never-really-thought-about-it-but-it-makes-perfect-sense kinda way, tile-based pixel art scales really well, so the games look fantastic in HD. It’s not a rose-colored glasses situation, it’s a matter of muscle memory and reflexes just not being what they used to.
Over the years I’ve been conditioned to expect a more forgiving experience. To say I was out of my comfort zone was an understatement.
Some of the games have fared better. I’ve played Mega Man 2 more recently due to the Legacy Collection on newer consoles, and I had Zelda II and StarTropics on my Wii U. But there are a few other games I haven’t had the courage to try yet. Metroid, Castlevania II, Kid Icarus and Ghost n Goblins will probably make me rage. I might never attempt Ninja Gaiden.
Those games were tough back then, I can’t imagine how they’d be now. I also can’t imagine what 7-year old me would think when seeing the travesty that will unfold the second I boot one of them up. It just isn’t gonna be pretty.
I’m hoping to get back some of my muscle memory. I’m sure a lot of it will come back to me, and I can’t wait to share my experiences as I finally get to dig into some of these classic games again.
Until then, I’ll be staring at Game Over screens. And Arthur in his underwear. And that laughing frickin’ Moblin.
